


come to me (my sweetest friend)

by akscully



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, High School AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akscully/pseuds/akscully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity Smoak: top of her class, MIT bound, sci-fi aficionado high school student.  </p>
<p>And, unexpectedly, secret tutor of Oliver Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. that's the day you came to me

“I need you to tutor my son, Ollie.”

The words hang in the air as Felicity Smoak does her best not to pass out in the extremely comfortable chair that Mrs. Moira Queen had so graciously ushered her towards moments ago before fixing her with one of the most unnervingly steady stares she's ever received. Felicity coughs to break up the silence. “Um, I'm sorry, could you repeat that?” This is not how she imagined her life going when she got up this morning.

Mrs. Queen raises an eyebrow but obliges. “My son is having...difficulty in school. He's a bright boy but I'm afraid he's not applying himself as he should and his father and I are worried about his grades. He needs someone to...guide him back on track before he chooses a post secondary institution.”

Felicity can't stop the words before they're tumbling out of her mouth. “Mrs. Queen, are his grades really going to stop him from getting into college?” 

Mrs. Queen leans forward, seemingly unperturbed about Felicity's insinuation that they could just buy a spot for Oliver in any school. “You're forthright and honest. I can appreciate that. While many colleges and universities would be willing to overlook academic weakness in exchange for a generous donation-”

And that's why she didn't look bothered at the insinuation, Felicity thinks, in mild shock. Because it's true and she's planning on doing it.

“-most would shy away from a student who didn't even graduate. I hope you can understand the state of affairs we find ourselves in.”

Felicity makes a little 'oh' sound. “I didn't realize it was so serious.” How could she? What did she know of Oliver Queen besides that he's the most popular boy in school (and had been since he was a freshman), star quarterback for the football team and has a different girlfriend every two weeks (although he always seems to circle back to Laurel Lance at some point, not that she's checking, it's just that it's a _thing_ that everyone at school knows; she's pretty sure they include it in freshman orientation at this point)? He doesn't seem the type to worry about a few bad grades. Or...all the bad grades, apparently.

“Fortunately, Ollie has come to see the danger of situation since his position on the football team is in jeopardy because of his academic performance. It's not ideal but I'll work with it.”

Felicity shifts uncomfortably. “Mrs. Queen, not that I don't appreciate the offer because I do, really, but aren't there others who could help Oliver? I mean, what about Laurel Lance? She's doing well in school too.” Felicity may be at the top of her class but she knows Laurel isn't far behind. Plus, considering the whole Lauriver (she's not sure whether to curse or laugh at Brangelina and tumblr for ship names {probably curse since now they're using them in _school_ with the mundanes [although Oliver and Tommy and Laurel have never been the mundanes and wow, she has too many tangents going on in her own brain, bring it on back, girl]}) drama, Oliver might want a chance to get back with her.

Mrs. Queen gives her a thin smile. “Laurel and Ollie are...old friends. Since they are so young, those feelings are easily reawakened and that it's a distraction that Ollie cannot afford. He needs someone that can keep him on track. And it's unlikely that he would be distracted by you.”

Her mouth falls open and she's not sure if she's offended or not. She knows the glasses and the rambling and the computer talk aren't the biggest turn-ons but she would like to think that _someone_ would find them attractive at some point in her life. A small part of her brain notes that Mrs. Queen doesn't exactly sound happy about the thought of Oliver and Laurel getting back together though.

Mrs. Queen holds up a hand. “I apologize, I worded that badly. Ollie and Laurel, because of their shared history, fall all too easily into old patterns, especially when left unsupervised.”

Felicity can just bet what sort of patterns those happen to be. Who can blame Laurel though? Who can blame Oliver?

“So, having Laurel as any sort of tutor is out of the question. You, however, are from all accounts, exceedingly intelligent, capable and driven. When I spoke to Superintendent Lance--”

“Wait,” Felicity interrupts. “You got a recommendation from the superintendent?”

Mrs. Queen fixes her with a look and Felicity sinks down into the chair. Queen name, billions of dollars, right.

“As I was saying, when I spoke to the superintendent, your name came up immediately. You have an immensely bright future ahead of you that you seem determined to achieve and you don't have a history with my son that he can use to distract you. I hope that you can help him achieve his potential.” Mrs. Queen looks at her expectantly.

Felicity bolts upright like she used to do when she knew the answer to the teacher's question. “Um, sure, yes, that would be nice. What areas does he need the most, er, help in achieving his potential?” What is she saying? Is she agreeing to this? 

Mrs. Queen lets out a long suffering sigh. “All of them.” And then a crooked smile. “Except football.”

Felicity lets out a little laugh. “Oh, good, I'm not good at football. Or throwing things. Or catching. Or most physical activities. Running! I can do running pretty well.” She mimes jogging with her hands until she sees that Mrs. Queen is staring at her again. “So, uh, I hate to be bourgeois but...”

Mrs. Queen smiles again. “Payment, of course. I have a contract here that lists the particulars.” She slides a packet of papers across the desk and Felicity grabs it and tries not to think of it means to have a contract for some tutoring. Is it even legal for her to sign a contract as a minor? Probably not but Mrs. Queen doesn't seem to be the type to get hung up on technicalities. She bites her lip as she looks over the contract but she can't stop her eyes from bugging out when she sees the hourly wage.

“Mrs. Queen, um, this is very generous but--”

“As I said, you come highly recommended and Queens pay for quality,” his mother interrupts smoothly. “We are also paying for your discretion in this matter.”

“My discretion?” Felicity asks, somewhat confused. “You don't want anyone to know?”

“The press always has something to say about the Queen family and their activities. You understand.”

God, this family is so weird. “Yeah, of course I understand. So, uh, this contract looks okay, I guess I can sign it?” She really hopes that there's not something weird that she's missing. Like she signing over her firstborn (she's not planning on having kids any time soon, of course or maybe at all? She's a teenager; she figures she gets some time to think on the subject but still. She doesn't think she should give up potential reproductive rights for a tutoring gig in high school. Maybe a shot working as director of IT at Wayne Enterprises? Nah, too small.) or they get a pint of blood if he fails a class or something.

“Excellent,” Mrs. Queen smiles and slides a pen across. “If you would just sign the last page, I'll go get your student.” She gets up and walks gracefully to the door. Just before opening it, she turns back to Felicity and smiles again. “Felicity, thank you for doing this. I know this will be an added pressure to your life but Robert and I appreciate your willingness to help.” 

Felicity manages to lift her lips in a semblance of a smile as Mrs. Queen leaves and then looks down at the contract. As she turns to the last page to sign, she suddenly desperately wishes she had worked more on her penmanship growing up. Her name looks bulky and awkward next to Moira Queen's smooth signature. 

“Felicity? Your pupil is here.” Mrs. Queen's says behind her.

Felicity stands up and turns so quickly she almost knocks the chair over. There he is, all six foot, blond haired, blue eyed Oliver Queen. He doesn't look particularly happy.

Oh boy.

She smooths her hair back, making sure it's secure in its ponytail before giving him a tentative smile. “Do you have a place where we can study?”

Oliver just quirks an eyebrow at her before slowly walking over to her. Felicity sucks in a breath and stands up straighter. He sticks a hand out to her. “Hi, I'm Oliver Queen and you are?”

Felicity feels her face flush from her hairline to her neck. Her mother would kill her for her lack of manners. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I'm Felicity Smoak.” Oliver just looks at her before glancing down at his outstretched hand. “Oh, sorry!” she gasps before grabbing his hand. It envelopes hers and it's so warm she almost wonders if he has a fever. “I guess we don't have to work on manners. You've got that totally covered. You could probably teach me a thing or two, right? Forks on the left, knives on the right and all that. How do you do?” Oh god, why can't she stop talking?

His lips tilt upward. “Quite well, thank you,” he says, his tone formal and polite and just short of teasing. “We can study in my room.”

Felicity glances at Mrs. Queen but she doesn't seem to have any objection so Felicity just nods her head and grabs her bag. Ugh, she must really not be a distraction if his mom doesn't mind them studying alone in his room. 

They walk out the door of the office when Mrs. Queen calls out and Oliver turns around. “Ollie, leave the door open. Might need to call you for dinner,” she explains with a smile that Felicity is sure contains some sort of secret warning to her. Or him. Or both of them. Or not at all. Mrs. Queen is hard to read.

Oliver glances down at Felicity and her lips twist. “No shenanigans,” she whispers. Oliver chuckles and nods to his mother before leading Felicity to another...wing? She's never been in a house that had an honest to goodness east wing before. She idly wonders if there's a crazy wife in the attic before dismissing her thoughts with a soft laugh. 

Oliver's room is what she imagined it might be, not that she's imagined it. It's just that when your home is referred to as a mansion, there's a certain set of decorating guidelines that must come standard. It's huge but it's all dark wood and amber lighting. It's actually kind of cozy.

“Thanks, I think so too,” Oliver says behind her.

Felicity closes her eyes for a moment. “I said that out loud, didn't I?” She turns, wincing. Oliver just grins and looks at her. She clears her throat and attempts to get some control back. “Is there a desk anywhere? We need to get started.”

“Yeah, the desk is over here,” he says, jerking his thumb towards one corner of the room. It's more of an Arthurian round table than a desk, she thinks but it'll do. She settles into one of the chairs and tries not to tense up when he sits right next to her. Of course it makes sense for him to sit there. They're here to study. No shenanigans.

Except he's leaning over very close to her, a soft smile on his face, eyes trained on her and his fingers are nudging hers.

Oh no. Oh no no no no _no_. Felicity almost doesn't recognize what he's doing since she never thought it would actually happen but she's pretty sure he's trying to put the whammy on her so he doesn't have to work. She hasn't even started tutoring and he's trying to wriggle out of here.

“What are you doing?” she says harshly.

“Just admiring a pretty face,” he says, still smiling.

_A_ pretty face. He can't even bother to make it personal. Awesome. “Bullshit,” she snaps and tries not to look disappointed that he's already blowing her off. All at once the smile falls off his face and he looks at her warily which tells her she didn't succeed. “Stop it,” she says firmly. “It's not going to work and it's kind of gross.”

Oliver appears dumbfounded and she figures it's the first time anyone has called him gross. “Look, I was hired to help and that's what I'm going to do. Your parents would really like you to get through this year and graduate so let's just focus on that, okay?”

He looks down and pushes his chair away from her a bit. When he glances back up, she's surprised by how contrite he looks. “Sorry about that,” he says. 

Felicity takes a deep breath and lets it go. “It's fine. Okay, so, um, do you have your U.S. History book? Maybe we can start there,” she offers. He nods once and leans over to grab the book out of his bag.

She can't help the little shriek when she sees the state of his book. “What happened?” she asks, grabbing at the textbook and holding it up for closer examination. The pages are torn and ripped and are those tire treads on the cover? She looks up at him in askance, bewildered at how someone could do this much damage to a book.

“I dropped it at my coffee shop,” he says with the straightest face she's ever seen. It's sort of amazing.

“Really? Because these look like tire marks,” she responds, pointing to the clear tread lines over George Washington's face. Ichabod Crane would be _furious_.

“It was a drive through.” He's still just looking at her if he's going to will her to accept the worst lie she's ever heard. She bites her lip and tilts her head at him, disbelief screaming out of every pore of her body.

Oliver breaks out into a laugh. “Okay, okay, I may have run it over a couple of times.”

Felicity rolls her eyes and huffs a little, trying not to wonder why he would run over a _book_ , really, what would that accomplish? “Let's see the state of your chemistry book.”

He waggles his eyebrows at her. “My chemistry is just fine.”

She refuses to be charmed and holds out her hand. “Book, please.” He hands it over and she makes a pleased noise. “Goodness, it's all in one piece so why don't we start here? What's the last thing you remember doing in chemistry?”

“Hydrogen,” he says promptly.

“What?”

“Hydrogen is the first atom,” he repeats, his eyes utterly guileless. 

Felicity stares.


	2. you be sweet and i'll be grateful

The first week doesn't go as badly as their first five minutes together and Felicity supposes she's grateful. Oliver is behind on his work, like, incredibly far behind, how did he even get promoted to the next grade when he hasn't turned in a homework assignment in literally _years_ behind.

Felicity felt a little faint when he told her that. The rich really really do it differently.

However, it's clear that Oliver is smart. Not as smart as her, of course, but in the past week, he's picked up on multiple concepts quickly enough once she explained them and applied them to the mountain of chemistry homework he had to go through (she had to start with that subject first once she heard the grand sum of his chemistry knowledge. Looking back, she probably should have led with math but the hydrogen thing stuck in her craw). No, the problem is definitely not his academic potential.

Felicity can't help but think that the phrase 'herding cats' applies specifically to Oliver. Great googly moogly, he has zero focus on things he doesn't care about and flits around like a magpie searching for something shiny. In a weird way, she can understand it—he literally has nothing to work for. He was born rich, he'll live rich, he'll die rich and his great great grandchildren will die rich too (assuming an asteroid doesn't hit the earth, of course). But still...he has no internal motivation?

“Not really,” he says cheerfully.

 _Dammit._ “Look,” she says, “I'm going to say things that don't make sense every once in a while, maybe even more, let's be honest and I'm asking you to ignore it because I don't really mean to say it out loud and I'm relying on the kindness of strangers or well, you, to look the other way.”

“Felicity, you're kind of weird,” Oliver says with a smile.

“Wow, thanks, the Oliver Queen charm coming out in full force, I see, not that you would be using charm on me, of course, I'm a tutor, not a potential girlfriend--”

“It's not a bad thing, I'm just saying,” he cuts in, blithely ignoring her rambling.

She tries not to grimace. “Weird is abnormal. I know I'm not in the 50th percentile and I'm good with that, _really_ but maybe you don't have to say it?”

Oliver fixes her with a bland look. “If you're good with it, why are you so upset?”

“I'm not upset!” Felicity protests. “I'm just...whatever, I'm fine. Have you finished the equation yet?”

“No motivation, remember?” Oliver reminds her, twirling a pencil around his fingers. “Let's talk about this aversion to weird you have.”

Felicity freezes him with a look. “Nice try. You do realize that a degree in psychiatry requires a high school diploma? Back to the problem.”

He leans forward and grins. “But I'd rather talk about you.”

Felicity huffs in irritation. “No, you'd rather avoid anything that requires a modicum of effort.”

“So you think I'm lazy?” Oliver asks, a hint of ice creeping into his tone.

Felicity pauses to replay what she just said and winces. “No, obviously you wouldn't be quarterback if were lazy,” she says trying to cover. 

“So I'm a dumb jock then?”

“What? No, I didn't say that--”

“So I'm an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot!” she cries out in frustration. “Look, you knew _nothing_ about chemistry a week ago and I practically had to teach you algebra, for crying out loud, did you even show up for sophomore algebra because I'm not sure you did and now you're doing the homework like you paid attention in class for the past year. It's actually kind of amazing. You're smart but, and I can't believe I'm actually saying this when I'm not a 50 year old teacher, but wow, do you not live up to your potential by a long shot.”

Oliver tilts his head, considering her. “You've known me for a week and you can already tell what my potential is?”

Felicity looks away and tries not to flush any redder. “You were trying to psychoanalyze me a minute ago so you're not really one to talk. Just...finish the problem, okay?”

Oliver just hmmms and turns back to his homework. “You never answered my question, you know.”

She huffs and starts going through the mountain of paper his bag gave up when he opened it. “Your potential is clear to see if anyone bothers to look.”

“That's not what I was talking about.”

“Okay, I'm sure you're not lazy. If even half the rumors are true, the number of girlfriends you've had would require a _tremendous_ amount of work.”

Oliver narrows his eyes at her for a moment then laughs and leans close. “They're all true,” he whispers.

Felicity smiles sweetly at him. “Then I can't wait for you to use that romantic experience in your essay on _Much Ado About Nothing_ for your English class,” and waves the homework assignment in front of his face. “It's due tomorrow. We'll work on it after you finished chemistry.”

He looks at her innocently over the top of the paper. “I'm not sure I know what the proper form for the essay is.”

Her lips thin in displeasure again. “Nice try. I'm fairly certain you know how to spin a tale and that's basically all an essay is.” She pauses, wondering if she should encourage him to take shortcuts when they've really just started. Probably not. “We'll make an outline. Just try to keep coffee shops out of it.”

“I bet I could work it in,” Oliver sing songs.

Felicity groans and drops her head to the table. “I've made a huge mistake.”

* * *

 

The real mistake comes next week when she's sitting at her lab table for Chem II before the period begins. Because that's when Tommy Merlyn and Oliver stroll through the door, just before the bell rings, smiling and laughing and she doesn't immediately push them back out the door and lock it behind them.

There is no way, _no way_ that they could qualify for this class. She knows Oliver's grades, she knows what classes he's taken, she's hacked into the school system and seen them (she was bored on the weekend and she didn't change anything, she just wanted to poke around and see if she could and once she was in, what was she supposed to do, not look? And wow, Mr. and Mrs. Queen must have been pulling strings like people were puppets because Oliver's grades were not good). She bets that Tommy's GPA is similar. But she just stares with the rest of the class, astonished, as they hand a piece of paper to Mr. Zytle. 

“We're transferring into this class,” Oliver begins helpfully.

“We love chemistry,” Tommy says, a winning grin on his face. “So interesting, so explosive.”

Mr. Zytle glances down at the papers and back up at them. “You boys have managed to test into this class?” he asks, disbelief clear.

Felicity's sure you can't test into an advanced course when you haven't passed any of the prerequisites. She's sure that even if current students could, Oliver and Tommy wouldn't. 

And yet.

Oliver is just looking at Mr. Zytle with that same look he gave her when they first met, like he's willing an entire education system to bend to him. 

Mr. Zytle sighs, looking down at the official record, defeated. “There's an open lab table in the back.”

Felicity stares straight ahead, forcing herself not to look at Oliver as he walks down the aisle (she's supposed to be discreet, why would she know Oliver, why would she notice him even if this the most insane thing she's ever witnessed). The other students have no such compunctions. Their heads swivel around to mark his progress down the aisle.

Oliver grins and drums his fingers on her lab table when he passes but doesn't otherwise acknowledge her existence and then he and Tommy claim the table just in back of her. And of course, of course, Oliver doesn't sit directly behind her, he sits on the other stool so that if she turns her head at all, she'll see him out of the corner of her eye. She resolves to look straight ahead for the rest of the semester. She's an excellent student and chemistry is fascinating (not as fascinating as computer science, of course, but the rules and logic appeal to her); she firmly believes that she will have no trouble sticking to her guns. 

Four seconds later she sees him opening his textbook.

* * *

Felicity ambushes him the second she gets into his room that evening.

“What are you doing?” she demands. 

Oliver looks up from his homework (his homework! He's actually doing his homework! She could almost cry.) and gives her a blank look. “What?”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” she grits out.

“My homework?”

“No! How did you get into my class? I know you don't have the prereqs, how did you get in?”

Oliver shifts uncomfortably. “My parents thought it would be a good idea to have a class with you so they arranged for me to join.”

Felicity gapes at him and suddenly, horribly, it all clicks into place. “Arranged? You mean _bribed?_ You bribed the principal—no, it must be the superintendent—to get into Chem II? Why?”

He waves his hand, not looking at her. “Because, you know, it would keep me on track. Keep me focused.”

She drops into a seat near him. “You're in the class with your best friend. Both of you are well known for blowing off most of your courses. I can't talk to you in class or, you know, acknowledge your existence because I'm supposed to be 'discreet' and I'm pretty sure I'll lose a kidney if someone finds out about our little arrangement--”

Oliver's brow furrows. “Arrangement?” he mouths.

“--so how am I supposed to keep you 'on track' when you're not supposed to know I exist?!” 

“Good point, I'm going to need your phone number,” Oliver says calmly.

“What?”

His eyebrows raise. “Your cell phone? Football practice is gearing up, our first game is in a couple of weeks, my schedule is going to be crazy. I need your number if something comes up.” 

Felicity gives him a look. “Like a cheerleader or...?”

He gives her a slow grin. “Speaking of, I may have to cut tomorrow's study session short but I was thinking more along the lines of if practice runs long. I'd hate for you to be waiting for me.”

She tries not to flush at his insinuation but the sparkle in his eyes lets her know she's failed. “Yes, yes,” she mutters, pulling out her phone, “very clever. Give me your number and I'll text you.”

Oliver gives her a strange look. “Why don't you just give me your number and then I'll call you?”

“Or since I have my phone out, you can give me your number right now.”

“It's easier if you give me yours.”

“What, you don't know your own number?” she scoffs.

He stays suspiciously silent.

“Oh my God,” she explodes. “Are you serious?”

“Girls usually give me their number,” he says stiffly.

Felicity lets out a half horrified, half completely fucking amused gurgle. “Right, right, of course. Give me your phone.” He reaches over to hand it to her and her fingers brush against his. She tries not to be Victorian literature about it but the flutter in her stomach betrays her. She focuses on pulling up his number on the phone (and not setting the language to something like Mandarin) and turns the screen towards him. “See this?” she says, leaning forward. “This is your phone number,” she explains slowly.

Oliver flexes his (ridiculously attractive) jaw and takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” he grits out. 

Felicity chuckles as she turns the phone around and sends a text to her phone. “There, now I have your number.”

He grabs his phone back from her. “What did I text you anyway?” He looks down at it and frowns in confusion. “Hello world?”

Felicity waves him off. “It's a programming thing. Let me text you and you can grab my number.” 

A soft chime on his phone goes off and he glances it at before smiling and saving the information. “I'm going to need a picture,” he announces.

“What? No, you don't. It's better if there's no picture to identify me.”

“I think you're taking this discretion thing a little too far.”

“You're not the one who loses blood if we're found out!”

“I thought it was a kidney?”

“You know what I mean!”

“I don't, actually.”

“I signed a _contract_ , Oliver. And I'm pretty sure that your mother is going to enforce it. And I don't even really know what the penalties are for breach of contract, oh man, I should have talked to Laurel, we have government together and she wants to be a lawyer--”

“Felicity,” Oliver says firmly.

Her eyes dart over to his and she takes a deep breath. “Sorry.”

Oliver shrugs. “You were kind of spinning away there.”

“Thank you for bringing me back.” That didn't sound weird, right? She clears her throat. “How did that essay on Much Ado go, by the way?” 

“I got a B+.”

Felicity smiles at him in genuine pleasure. “I knew you would do well on it.” She leans forward and puts a hand on his arm. “We'll get that grade up in no time.”

He stares at her a moment and blinks before quickly bringing his phone up and snapping a picture. “Got it!”

“Oliver!” she growls and lunges for the phone but he just laughs and leans back, holding it high above his head while he punches buttons. He puts his hand on her shoulder and she freezes. His thumb is perilously close to the hem of her neckline, almost brushing the skin of her neck. Absurdly, she can feel her heart rate increase. What is wrong with her? He's not even really touching her.

Oliver turns his head suddenly and all at once she's staring at his face which is much much closer than she realized. “It's a good picture,” he says. 

Felicity blinks slowly. “So do I get a picture of you?”

Oliver tilts his head. He hasn't removed his hand from her shoulder and she hasn't moved back. “I thought you were all about discretion?”

That jolts her back. “You're right, better if I don't have a picture-”

“I'll do it,” he says quickly and grabs her phone. The camera flashes and he hands the phone back to her. Damn the man, Felicity thinks. He even takes excellent selfies. It's totally unfair.

“I practice,” Oliver comments offhandedly.

Felicity makes a strangled sound. 

“He's not lying,” a deep voice suddenly says. Felicity sucks in a breath and turns to see a tall boy leaning up against the door frame. “You should see him after practice. It's unseemly the way he takes pictures.”

“Digg!” Oliver laughs. “What are you doing here?”

Felicity tries to quell the _rapidly_ rising panic in her chest and tries to think of excuses of why she's at Oliver Queen's house but her mind can only come up with terrible stories (flat tire [why are they in his bedroom], she's fixing his computer [why are they at his desk in his bedroom], she's his new weekly girlfriend [yeah right but it would explain the bedroom]) so she keeps quiet while her mind spins in place.

Digg holds up an ipad. “Coach wanted us to go over the playbook, remember?” His eyes cut over to Felicity curiously.

“Shit, that's right,” Oliver swears. “Felicity, we're going to have to finish this later--”

“So, you're his tutor?” Digg interrupts. 

“What, no--” Felicity starts.

“Yep!” Oliver says at the same time.

Felicity tries not to let out a frustrated scream.

“Digg won't say anything,” Oliver says easily. “He's got my back. No one is supposed to know I have a tutor, very hush hush, top secret, you understand,” he explains at Digg's questioning look.

Digg laughs and pushes off the doorjamb. “John Diggle,” he says, smiling and introducing himself to Felicity. He walks over to the table and tosses the ipad on it. It slides right into Oliver's hands.

His full name keys a memory in her. “Oh, we had freshman Spanish together!” she remembers. “I'm Felicity Smoak.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says dryly. “Hard to forget the smartest one in the room.”

“What?” Felicity laughs. “I was awful at Spanish. I took my two years and dropped it.”

“Mmmm, you seemed pretty on track to me.”

She sighs, remembering the struggle of trying to force her brain to pick up the language. “Only because I was up every night, studying until I fell asleep.” She shakes her head and frowns. “I should have been better at it.” 

Oliver glances up from the tablet. “Are you expecting to be good at everything or something?”

“No,” Felicity shakes her head, “I just should have better than I was.” She shrugs. “Spanish follows rules, I should have been able to do it.”

Oliver tilts his head like he did when he was questioning her about his potential but doesn't say anything. He just gazes steadily at her and she feels her cheeks starting to burn so she turns her attention to John. “So, um, I know Oliver joked about it but I really really need you to not tell anyone that I'm here.”

John laughs. “Not the first one to be ashamed of being seen with this guy, I get it. I've been covering his ass for four years. Tommy Merlyn probably has even more stories.”

Felicity lets out a little giggle while Oliver rolls his eyes. “Not ashamed,” she assures him, “just that Mrs. Queen wants me to be discreet and I signed a contract and I think if it gets out then _shrrrrrrrt_.” She draws her thumb across her neck like a blade. Her brain catches up to her body and she risks a quick glance at Oliver to see if he's perturbed by her implication that his mother has an easy relationship with murder but he doesn't seem bothered by her mouth.

Digg gives her a small smile. “I've had English with Oliver for two years and I haven't seen him turn in a paper on time until last week. And he even had some things to say during class discussion about Benedict stopping Beatrice's mouth and how she didn't speak for the rest of the play. It wasn't hard to guess that something was going on with him. Queen is sort of an idiot,” he says with a fond tone in his voice.

Felicity turns to Oliver, a soft smile on her face. “You participated in class?” Participation hadn't been a requirement of the contract so she never pressed the matter in their sessions.

He doesn't look at her, just glares at Digg. “It didn't seem right that she didn't have any more lines when she's the funniest one.”

A bubble of pride threatens to burst in her chest. She knew he could be a good student, she _knew_ it. “Oliver, that's wonderful.”

Oliver just shakes his head and snorts but she can see the pleasure in his eyes. Her smile widens and hums softly while she gathers her things together.

“Wait, where are you going?” Oliver is frowning while he tracks her movements.

“You guys have your...football thing.” Felicity makes what she thinks are vaguely football related gestures but judging from the narrowed eyes of the boys, she probably just insulted them. “I need to go anyway so...”

“Why don't you just stay until Digg and I are done?” Oliver offers. She can see Digg's eyes slide over to look at Oliver. “You can finish your homework here while we do this.”

“I can't,” Felicity sighs regretfully, glancing at her phone. Mom needs her at home. “My homework is already done and my mom...worries.” She slings her bag around her shoulder and absently pulls her hair out the way of the strap. “If you have any questions, just text me, okay? I'll try to talk you through it. John, it was nice meeting you. Um, again.” She gives John a quick smile and turns to Oliver. “I'll see you tomorrow? We have lab in chemistry so if you and Tommy could not blow up your pretty face, I'd appreciate it.”

Felicity realizes what she just said a split second before a slow grin splits Oliver's face. 

She can feel his eyes on the back of her neck as she flees the room.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, this is more a high school movie au since I'm old and I know that teenagers don't actually speak like this. Youths!


End file.
